Vengeance
by XwolfrunnerX
Summary: "When avenging your uncle's death seems like the purpose of your existence, falling in love with the one responsible for that death is taboo...isn't it?" when Adara Coulson is told of her uncle Phil Coulson's murder, fury ignites within her. Now with no family left, she vowes to find his killer and avenge his death. But what will Adara do when she discovers that it's Loki himself?


"...Captain America saved my life. If he's out there, if he's listening, I just want to thank him," chirped a frazzled and dirty blond waitress on the television. For the past hour, I had flipped through every local channel on the TV, and each one the same story. Aliens had invaded the planet, the reason unknown to most, and had nearly conquered New York City. Aircraft and massive mechanical creatures had invaded the atmosphere from a giant hole in the sky and wiped out everything in their path. I had taken cover in my apartment, leaving work at the diner early, and tuned in to the news.

The chaos had lasted a good five hours or so. I had watched as buildings crumbled and explosions rip their way through the sky in brilliant blue and white light on the TV. Every news channel and radio station and handheld video camera recorded the event. YouTube had exploded with views of the demolishment and destruction, sometimes with a glimpse of an alien zipping past on aircraft here and there. The sights were terrifying and intriguing, all at the same time. I wondered how many people had been caught in the chaos and died, or were inflicted with injuries. My guess was a few hundred, at least. The media couldn't seem to get a right number, for the NYPD had not yet released the number of casualties to the public yet.

It was eleven o'clock at night, the war ending only hours ago. I couldn't imagine how much money and the amount of time it was going to take to repair the property damages to the city. I was expecting my paycheck to be considerably smaller the next pay period. The repair for the damages was going to come out of every tax payer's check in the next few months, no doubt. Working as an overtime waitress had enough stress as it was, and now I would have to work longer if I was going to make rent and bills every month. My list of things-I-have-to-worry-about was about to double. And so was my work load.

I reached for the remote and shut off the TV, now sick of hearing the same story in a different version over and over again. News and media like Twitter, Facebook and YouTube were blowing up with government related conspiracy theories. Some theories seemed to make sense, and others were dumbfoundingly outrageous. But I knew none of them were true. I at least had some knowledge of what happened in the city, and how the war had been stopped.

The Avengers.

The Avengers are a team of weirdly powerful and intelligent people that had come together to stop the alien invasion. A handful of the public had an idea of who it was that saved our planet. Iron Man, also known as the notoriously flirtatious genius billionaire that had created a high tech suit, who had ultimately revealed himself a few months ago. I didn't know much about secret identities, but I assumed that they were secret for a _reason_. I had gathered from Tony Stark's personality that he enjoyed the attention from the media, and was an independent and obnoxiously cocky man that found humor in almost everything happening around him, good or bad. Captain America, whose name I did not know, was another of the team members. His shield was made of indestructible metal, and he was an incredibly agile and strong human being. Looking at shots of him on the news, he was fast too. The Hulk, an indestructibly massive rage monster that couldn't be stopped once he was out. Hawkeye was a nimble and high sensory archer that could hold his own in a fight. The Black Widow was the only female on the team, a master martial artist with fiery red hair and a personality to match. Thor was the sixth and final member, a being from another world with a massive hammer and the power to fly and summon lightning. People often referred to him as a God. The only reason I knew much about the team members was from my uncle, Phil Coulson.

Phil worked for an espionage and law-enforcement agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. As my uncle, I had been fortunate enough to hear a bit of information about the team. I considered myself lucky; one, because I knew what most of the public did not, and two, because I had the greatest uncle in the world. After my parents abandoned me at a young age, Phil took me in and raised me. As soon as I turned eighteen, I insisted I find a job and find my own place to live, which I had. Phil was always offering to let me stay in his apartment, but each time I declined. It might be due to the whole exercising-independency-as-a-teenager thing, or because I didn't want to burden Phil anymore. It might have been both. Even though he was always working for S.H.I.E.L.D and was rarely home, Phil made sure to check up on me every now and then. When I was struggling financially, and even when I never told Phil that I was, I always found a hundred dollars or so in the mail from him. I didn't like feeling like a charity case, but Phil being the insistent and good natured person he is, I was never short of money or things I needed.

My stomach grumbled when I thought about money, and then about how much food I had left in the fridge. I slumped over to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, seeing a yogurt, a bottle of water, a bottle of mustard, a half of a head of lettuce that was beginning to brown, and an Arm and Hammer deodorizer. I sighed, grabbing the yogurt and shutting the fridge door. I opened up the freezer and saw a tray of ice and a half eaten Popsicle on a plate.

Nothing.

I shut the freezer door and retrieved a spoon from one of the kitchen drawers. Ripping open the lid, I downed the yogurt in a few mouthfuls, but it wasn't even close to satisfying. My stomach rumbled angrily, and I clutched at my abdomen, feeling like I had an empty pit in the middle of my body. A midnight run to McDonalds would have to do tonight.

I grabbed my worn leather jacket from the back of my couch and slipped it over my shoulders. Stepping into a pair of beaten black combat boots, I snatched my keys from the kitchen counter and slipped out my apartment door, locking it behind me. My brown hair caught a warm late night breeze and tumbled behind me in frizzy waves. I tromped down the steps outside, my footsteps echoing noisily on the metal stairs, and hit the asphalt at the bottom. My old Honda Accord gleamed in the moonlight, marred by dents and patches of rusted metal. The white paint job didn't look quite so white anymore. A rim was missing off the back left tire, and the AC and the heater were both broken. I wouldn't have to worry about cold weather tonight, but the jacket around my shoulders was a force of habit, a sentimental possession that I took with me everywhere. It had been the first gift Phil had ever given me.

On my tenth birthday, I had begged Phil to take me to the mall and get a present, because I had never been before. Phil had offered to buy me jewelry, makeup, or a fancy dress to wear on special occasions, but I had my heart fixed on the leather jacket hanging on display in one of the stores. After him repeatedly trying to convince me to buy something girly, and something that was even in my _size_, I pulled the sad kid card until he complied. The jacket was three sizes too big, but I wore it every day, despite the large fit. It fit nicely now, and I loved the feel of the fabric over my arms.

Unlocking my car manually, I wrenched open the rusted door and clambered in, shutting it behind me. The force of the door rattled the windows. With keys in the ignition, I wheeled out of the parking lot and hit the road, heading to the McDonalds not far from where I lived.

About three minutes later, a much shorter time than it would have been with traffic on the road—now mostly devoid of life, thanks to the terrifying alien invasion—I pulled through the drive thru, already able to smell the distinct scent of the fast food joint. I could almost taste the hot fries and the Big Mac I would soon dig into, and my stomach rumbled at the thought. Rolling down the window, the scent of fast food hit me full force, and my craving only served to intensify.

"Hello, and welcome to McDonalds. What can I get for you tonight?" droned a man's voice from the speaker in front of the menu. He sounded drained, tired. I would be too if I had to work a full night shift at a McDonalds. The sympathy I held for the worker made me desire to be as easy going a customer as possible. I held an understanding for serving difficult customers. It only made your job that much worse, and that much harder. I put as much politeness into my tone as possible, and made my order.

"Just a Big Mac and a value fry, please." I said.

"Can I get anything else for you tonight?" he said, his voice crackly and fuzzy through the speaker.

"No, thank you."

He repeated my order and my total, and I pulled forward. I stopped at the drive thru window and fumbled inside my pocket for cash. I pulled out a crumbled five dollar bill and waited for the man to open the window. To my surprise, the man at the window was familiar. _Too_ familiar.

"Oh, hey Adara!" he smiled, his blue eyes crinkling with a smile, and wisps of his blonde hair whipping in the wind outside.

I groaned internally. It was Alex, my ex-boyfriend from my sophomore year of high school. I should have recognized his voice through the speaker, but the distorted sound made it hard. I hadn't seen him since graduation, three years ago. And I had no idea he was working at _McDonalds_. I now assumed he had pursued a similar path as me, skipping college and going straight to work.

"Yeah, uh, hey there Alex." I said, now forgetting the politeness and easy going attitude I had planned to use on the worker. "You work here? Since when?"

"Since last week! How are you? Are you in college?" his joy at seeing me was nauseating. I had broken up with him for a reason. He was always way too ahead of me in the relationship, always wanting to do other things that I didn't want to do. We didn't get along either, and now that I look at him from a different view, he wasn't as attractive as I thought he had been in high school.

"Uh, no. I'm working as a waitress. I didn't go to college…"

"Oh, me either!" he chirped. He turned and grabbed a paper bag with my meal inside off the counter. He shut the window suddenly and disappeared for a second. The posters on the window blocked my view of what he was doing, but then the window opened once again, and he handed me the bag.

"Well, I've got a line at the drive thru. I'll see you later?"

He phrased it like a question, and he wanted me to confirm with a "yes". I pretended I didn't hear that, and said: "Well thanks for the meal! Peace out," and rolled up the window. I slammed on the gas pedal and sped out of the drive thru, almost hitting the _Please Come Again!_ sign in the process. My heart was jumping obnoxiously in my chest, like my encounter with Alex had some sort of affect on me. Which it did. I hadn't kept contact with anyone in high school. I wanted to separate myself from my high school experiences as much as possible. I was a loner, and kids talked about me behind my back when I went through my Goth phase junior year. I had grown out of it the summer after junior year, and came back with my leather jacket and don't-give-a-shit attitude. After graduation, I moved as far away as I could while still maintaining a reasonable proximity to Phil's apartment. I had found out later after graduation that Alex had started the rumors about me after we broke up, which only made me want to distance myself from him and my classmates that much more.

I shoved my thoughts away, ignoring the feelings of resentment and anger that were beginning to bubble up, and sped home. I arrived at my apartment not that much later, killing the engine and grabbing the still-hot bag of food and pushing my car door open. I slammed it shut behind me, rattling the windows, and marched across the parking lot and up the stairs. My apartment was on the second level, a quick hike up the steps. I fumbled for my keys in my hand and shoved them into the key hole. The door opened and I shut it quietly behind me. I wasn't allowed to be loud, here. My downstairs and second level neighbors filed complaints against me when I did, and got bad enough to the point that the police paid a visit to my apartment. I didn't care, but I didn't want to end up in court for not obeying my landlord's request to be quiet after ten p.m.

I walked to my kitchen and set the McDonalds bag on the counter, feeling my stomach growl in hunger, and opened it up.

The first thing I saw was a napkin on top of my food. I pulled it out and set it carelessly on the counter, dumping the box that held my burger on the counter. The fries had spilled in the bag, so I dumped those out too. I dug in, not bothering to put the items on a plate, when something caught my eye.

The napkin was face up, and something had been written in black pen on its surface. I grabbed the napkin and saw a note, followed by a cell phone number. It was Alex's chicken scratch writing, asking me to call him. Irritation boiled up, and I crumbled the napkin with my fist and tossed it across the kitchen. It missed the garbage can and hit the floor. No way was I going to call him. Did he think that I wanted to hang out with him after the joke we called "high school"? I might still be holding a small grudge because of what he did to me. I wanted nothing to do with him. The next time I felt a craving for McDonalds, I would have to drive further and visit the one on Eleventh.

I finished the late night meal within a few minutes, and noticed drowsiness was beginning to weigh down my eyelids. I shut off the lights within my apartment and trudged down the hallway, turning into my bathroom and flicking on the light.

My reflection stared back at me, weary and pale. My frizzy brown hair was barely manageable, and my muddy brown eyes seemed to match the tone of my hair. My pale skin contrasted sharply with the deep brown of my hair, and only served to define the freckles splattered across my nose and cheeks. I didn't have a lot of freckles, but when I didn't tan in the summer, they stood out a lot. I wasn't ugly, in fact I thought I had a few redeeming features. My eye lashes were long, and my facial structure was good enough. My nose was a bit wider than I would have liked, and as for my body, I could stand to lose five or so pounds. My stomach and hips liked to hang out over the waist band of my pants, and my thighs felt a little too tight in my jeans. Eating fast food late at night wasn't helping my case, either. I didn't exercise, I _hated_ exercising. The most activity I got was when I worked overtime at the diner, and even then I was always munching on some fries or sipping a soda in the kitchen between orders.

I rubbed my eyes wearily and reached for my contact lens case. I filled both compartments with solution and removed the contacts from my eyes. My vision was momentarily distorted and blurry before I found my glasses and slipped them on over my nose. I reached for my tooth brush and scrubbed the hell out of my teeth and gums. I _hated_ having bad breath, especially in the mornings. No matter what I did, I always woke up with a bad taste in my mouth. Brushing my teeth was the first thing I did when I woke up, and since I didn't eat breakfast, I didn't have to worry about food tasting off. I took one last look in the mirror and shut off the bathroom light, shutting the door behind me.

I reached my bedroom and shut the door behind me, leaping into the bed and shifting myself down into the covers. I never really liked to walk to my bed in the dark. Despite the childishness of it, I somehow felt that something would grab my ankle if I walked to my bed. So I always jumped instead.

Warm and comfortable, I let my eyes drift close, and soon enough my mind was full of dreams about aliens, heroes, and a shattered world…

* * *

"Have the papers been signed?"

"Yes, Agent Fury. Agent Coulson's possessions have been repossessed, and his paperwork filled out," responded a stiff and sorrowful looking man, clad in a black and blue jumpsuit.

Agent Nicholas Fury of the espionage called S.H.I.E.L.D stood at attention, gazing out a massive pane of glass aboard the Helicarrier, a unique and specially designed vessel used as S.H.I.E.L.D's headquarters. Clouds of white and gray passed beneath them, looking as if one could reach out and touch them. The Helicarrier emitted a deep thrumming sound through the walls, the sound of four enormous rotors lifting the impossibly massive machine into the sky. With only one working eye, Fury had to turn his head to look at the computer agent standing at his side. Fury had made sure that all of Agent Coulson's files had been transferred to a safe place aboard the Helicarrier, a safe-locked and finger print only accessible room. Only an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D was allowed access the room, and only for work purposes. Rarely did Fury have to confirm any files being transported to the safe, but after Phil Coulson's death aboard the Helicarrier, only murdered hours ago by Loki himself, he wanted to ensure that things had been arranged. Coulson had been a faithful and committed agent. Wherever he was, Coulson always made sure he was doing something for the agency. Fury had gathered that, if things had happened under different circumstances, Coulson would have eventually taken Fury's place as Director.

Now, Fury was confirming that all deceased agents' files, information, and missions had been safe locked. A total of twelve agents had died during the fight against the Chitauri, the alien race that had invaded Earth's atmosphere, thanks to Loki, the God of Mischief. If it hadn't been for Thor's jealous and contemptuous adoptive brother, New York wouldn't be in ruins, and lives would not have been lost. Repairs to the damage inflicted on the vessel would be long and taxing. Loki's control over Clint had caused him to fire an explosive arrow to one of the rotors, almost dropping the aircraft out of the sky. If it weren't for Tony Stark's mechanical skills and Steve Rogers' help, they would all be crushed into the ground right about now. Families had been notified about each agent's passing, by personal visits. It was too risky to alert families via telephone, as phone lines were easily hacked. Headquarters would be discoverable, and the agency and its operations would fail. All family notices had been confirmed, except one; Phil Coulson's.

The only relative to Coulson was his niece Adara, a twenty year old girl living in New York, not far from Coulson's own apartment. Fury had met her on several occasions when she was young, but had not seen her for a few years. Because of personal interaction with the girl, Fury feared a bit for her reaction to the news. His compassion and sympathy went out to the girl. She would be notified within two days at least, one of S.H.I.E.L.D's lower ranked agents would be sent to inform her of the news. Fury did have plans for her, at least. Knowledge Fury had allowed Coulson to share with his niece about the agency wouldn't be left alone. He hadn't shared his plans with anyone, not even the heads of the agency, people even Fury did not know the identities to. Plans would be arranged, papers filled out, and files would be moved, again. Now, it was all but to wait.

"Thank you, Agent Stephenson." Fury responded, dismissing the man. Fury continued to look out the pane of glass ahead of him as Agent Stephenson marched away, his mind full of things he was going to be busy with in the coming months. The Avengers had taken a leave of absence, time away from saving and protecting the world after the war they had just been through. However, Fury felt an impending feeling of trepidation rising within him, something that told him the Avenger's work was not yet finished. Not knowing what it could be after the major battle they had experienced, Fury knew that only time would confirm the suspicious feeling in his gut.

How could he have known that it was sooner than he thought.


End file.
